


raise your hopeful voice (you have a choice)

by Umbrella_ella



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, MMA AU, SMUTTY SMUT, Slow Burn, like anyone is complaining, quick to smut slow to romance, single parent, the "Emma has muscles and uses them" AU no one wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbrella_ella/pseuds/Umbrella_ella
Summary: Emma is an amateur fighter in a rundown Chicago neighborhood, raising her son as a single mother. Regina is a corporate peon working underneath her mother's watchful eye. Neither of them feel like they have much choice in the way their lives are unfolding, but a chance meeting sets them on a journey to discovering that there's more to life than the paths before them. Whether or no those paths collide is up to them._The blonde laughs, then, harsh and loud, and Regina shifts uncomfortably at the brash way her emerald eyes rake up Regina’s body, taking note of the woolen coat and black heels that cost more than this place’s overhead. Sweat beads on the fighter’s forehead, and Regina finds herself trying not to stare back as defined muscles thrum with adrenaline. “Somehow I don’t think this is the crowd for her, Fred,” she sticks a taped hand out, and Regina tries to ignore the spots of what can only be dried blood as she clutches it, “Emma, Emma Swan. Hi.”
Relationships: Abigail | Kathryn Nolan/Frederick | Jim, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	raise your hopeful voice (you have a choice)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea of Regina finding herself in a fight club of sorts and meeting a well-muscled Emma wouldn't go away. The rest? That was just a bonus. Updates every Saturday.

Smoke hangs low, and Regina trains her wary eyes on the swaying crowd, raucous cheers filling the room— the room is large, the energy frantic and pulsing. The thump of boots and the roars of the crowd surround her, pressing in around her, and Regina’s fingers tighten around the sleeve of her friend’s coat. Kathryn seems to spot whomever she’d been looking for, and with a renewed determination, she leads Regina closer to the center of the room, where a space has been cleared, gym mats laying limp, blue, and ancient as fighters rock on their toes.

Kathryn tugs her closer, and with a grunt, a man shoves past Regina, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes, and Regina wrinkles her nose at the smug leer on his face. She presses in closer to Kathryn, the woolen coat comforting in the press of cheap polyester and pleather. A hand springs up from the crowd nearby, and a curse erupts from her painted lips as a torrent of beer sloshes down in front of her, her heels sticky.

“Shit,” she hisses, pressing closer to Kathryn, “Are you sure he’s here?”

“This is so cool, Regina!” Kathryn tosses a bright, wild look over her shoulder and Regina stares in wonder at the joy on her friend’s face. Whatever this is, it is far from _cool_ ; it’s daunting, terrifying, _disgusting_ even. But a positive experience? Never. Regina has never been more acutely aware of the way the string of pearls drape over her collarbones, has never felt more out of place, and her skin prickles with the need to leave because she doesn’t _belong_ here.

A blonde braid bobs with the moves of one of the fighters, her strong shoulders supporting a lean frame, back taut and straight as she weaves carefully around her opponent, nimble steps fas and seamless. A wide hook is easily dodged, but a left hook catches the woman beneath the ribs. The gasp of breath that huffs out into the room is audible, and the room falls quiet as the fighter stops, brushing a long lock of hair from her face with taped hands.

Startling green eyes are alert and careful, the pale skin marred by purpling mottled flesh, and Regina pauses as Kathryn drew to a stop next to the mats, waiting and watching as the blonde woman rounds her opponent, quick bare feet shifting and squeaking on the mat. Her opponent’s a short man, stocky, but muscular, feral and dangerous looking as he spits onto the mat, beads of sweat rolling down his balding pate as he tightens his fists with renewed vigor. A cut on his cheek bleeds furiously, the blood trickling down to his chin. Regina swallows thickly as the man swings again, and once more, the woman dodges; this time, her leg sweeps out to take the man down. With a flurry of shouts and cheers, the man hits the mat hard, the maneuver knocking the breath from his lungs, and the fighter twists her legs up and around him, pinning him. He rocks his body, trying to break the hold, but the woman tightens her grip, her thighs squeezing as her taped hands slam into his face again and again.

The man’s face is red with strain, purpling as the woman grits her teeth, her own face bright and slick with sweat.

The roar is deafening.

Kathryn leans over, speaking to the man she’d been, apparently, looking for.

“Freddie! I want you to meet Regina!” The man appraises Regina with kind eyes, brown and warm, as he holds up a finger.

A final slap of a meaty palm on the woman’s thighs, and the crowd goes wild, the din jarring and heaving as the crowd swells with boisterous cheers. Frederick sweeps onto the makeshift space, making his way to the fighters, sweat and blood making the mats slick. Regina swallows.

The blonde springs to her feet, spry and limber, a grin twisting her lips despite the smear of sweat and blood that traces along her jaw; Frederick grabs her hand then, and in a moment, raises it to the cries of the crowd. The fighters part, but only after the blonde lends a hand to her opponent, his body heaving as he hefts himself up from the mat, clapping her on the shoulder as he turns away. Regina refuses to look at the way the lycra shorts cling to her taut ass. Frederick leads the triumphant woman off the mat and into the crowd, where Regina and Kathryn lay in wait.

Regina appraises Frederick anew, his neat tan sport polo flecked with droplets of dried blood, and his fighter leaning on his side, a muscled arm slung over his shoulders.

“Nice job, Swan,” he says, and through the noise, Regina hears the reply.

“Never let them see you sweat,” the blonde speaks, a laugh bubbling up in her throat, “right, coach?”

Frederick laughs, and turns back to Kathryn and Regina.

“Kathryn, glad you could make it. Roni, right? Call me Fred.” Fred turns toward Regina expectantly, and she smiles carefully.

“Regina, actually. I’ve heard quite a bit about you in the past couple of weeks,” she replies easily. Her hand is sweaty, and she winces as Frederick takes her clammy hand in his own.

“Nice to you meet you! You came down at the right time, our star is something, hm?”

Frederick beams, and Regina nods politely at the woman next to Kathryn’s paramour, “It was certainly… something.”

The blonde laughs, then, harsh and loud, and Regina shifts uncomfortably at the brash way her emerald eyes rake up Regina’s body, taking note of the woolen coat and black heels that cost more than this place’s overhead. Sweat beads on the fighter’s forehead, and Regina finds herself trying not to stare back as defined muscles thrum with adrenaline.

“Somehow I don’t think this is the crowd for her, Fred,” she sticks a taped hand out, and Regina tries to ignore the spots of what can only be dried blood as she clutches it, “Emma, Emma Swan. Hi.”

Her hand is warm.

“Regina.”

Regina smiles tightly, drawing her coat tightly around her, certain that the smell of cigarettes and scotch will never escape the fibers of the designer coat. However right Emma is, she is not one to be defined by others. Her cool gaze shifts to the grinning blonde, the bruise on her cheek blooming a deep purple now, the edges of her eye swelling shut as she drops her gaze to Regina’s shoes, leather heels stained and smeared with beer.

“Next time, wear sneakers,” Emma grins, “Regina.”

Regina swallows because _fuck_ , Emma says her name like a prayer, or a benediction, and Regina doesn’t _do_ this.

And she turns away, then, just as quickly as she had appeared, being unceremoniously dragged away by a woman with dyed red hair.

“I’ll change and meet you upstairs. Wait for me out front?” Fred asks and brushes his lips to Kathryn’s forehead. Regina looks away, suddenly aware that she is very alone here. 

The pair make their way up a thin set of stairs, and the sharp slap of cold winter air brings Regina back to Earth. The scent of acrid alcohol and musty smoke is locked in the bar, the door snapping shut in the quiet night air. The dull pulse of cheers and music still thumps through the night. Neon pink light casts a glow on the deserted street before them, and Regina pulls her coat close, watching as the sign hums and flickers, declaring this place _Wonderland_. Regina snorts. Her Mercedes stands out in the lot, a beat-up yellow bug on one side of her car, rusting and paint-flecked, and a work truck on the other; the sleek black vehicle is the only marker of taste on the block, apparently.

A hoot echoes up the block, and Regina looks at the source, a young man stumbling into a bar a few doors down.

“Kathryn, you told me he was a bouncer. What the—”

Kathryn cuts her off with a pleading look, “Look, I knew you’d never come if I told you what his real night job was and I really like him, Regina. He’s— he’s special. Do this for me, _please._ ”

The blonde woman twists a curl around her index finger, a clear sign of the anxiety that mars her delicate features, and Regina feels herself assent.

“Fine, but _don’t_ drag me into that— that _filth_ , again. I still smell like Bud Light.”

The creak of the door snapping shut on its hinges breaks the moment, and Regina watches as Frederick pulls his jacket close against the Chicago air.

“Fuck,” he huffs, “it’s cold tonight. Sorry, Regina.”

His look is priceless.

Kathryn laughs at that, and Regina smiles tightly, determined to help her friend along in her budding romance.

“Where to?”

* * *

They end up in a club not too far away, because Fred’s truck is still parked at _Wonderland_ , and it’s one that is considerably nicer than the block of clubs they’d left. Regina resigns herself to a night of thudding bass and leering stares from men she couldn’t give two shits about. She nestles further into the booth, cradling her whisky close as she watches her friend laugh at something her partner says, and not for the first time, Regina swallows the burn of alcohol, hoping to burn away the feeling of derision and _something_ that feels an awful lot like loneliness that curdles in her stomach.

The thump of club music is just getting to be too much, then, and watching Fred and Kathryn loop around the dance floor, the music doing little to disguise their graceless fumbling. A shatter breaks Regina’s train of thought; blonde tresses sweep low to the woman’s midsection as the offender kneels in an effort gather the shards of broken glass and sweep them out of the walkway. With a gasp, Regina watches as the blonde woman gets up from the floor, cursing lowly as she shifts on her feet, searching in the crowd. A wave and a gesture with her hand to a scruffy man behind the bar, and she turns towards the booth, lips forming an apology before she spies Regina.

Emma Swan, for all of her grace and glory on the mats, lacks it wholly out of the ring, and she shuffles closer to the booth.

“Oh. Hey. Regina, right? Sorry about that, I, uh, wasn’t paying attention.” The strobe lights flash and the music thumps and thuds through the floor, and Regina grins into her glass as she watches the blonde flush, a pretty bloom of pink falling across high cheek bones. Regina wonders, not for the first time, whether the blonde’s face hurts, the ugly blue bruise blossoming on her cheek, a cut on her lip black with a forming scab. The red leather jacket she wears sticks out like a sore thumb here.

“Clearly,” she says, and it’s as if it’s a challenge, then, because she swallows the smooth burn of whisky, glass drained, and really, she’s had too much to drink, because she can’t help it, “You’re not one for grace outside the ring, are you, Em-ma?”

It’s been two hours since they’d left _Wonderland_ , a motely band of three, except now Kathryn’s dancing with Fred and Regina’s here, alone, and on her fifth drink of the night, but she doesn’t care, because green eyes are glittering in the low light and a palm is outstretched before her, offering— what? A good time? A dance? A nice lay? Regina isn’t one for one night stands, or dancing with strangers for that matter, though she knows she could if she wants, but there’s something about the way Emma holds herself, confident and sure, that has Regina wanting to say yes.

“Wanna find out, Regina?”

Emma’s palm is warm on her fingertips, and when she leads Regina onto the dance floor, Regina tries not to look at the way her knuckles are red and surely sore, tries not to stare at the way Emma’s pale skin is littered with purple stains, but it doesn’t matter then, because Emma’s behind her, pulling her in as the pulse of the music thumps through their feet.

There’s something dirty, dangerous about the way Emma holds her hips, and for a moment, Regina wonders if she should be doing this, but Emma’s hands slip to her hips. Emma’s hands are hot through the fabric of Regina’s dress, and the thrum of alcohol makes her braver than she feels, because she’s pressing back, her ass flush to careful hips, and Emma smells like vodka and salt and sweat and this is everything Regina wants.

Just for tonight.

The thud of the bass beat vibrates in her chest, and Regina can barely focus through the fog of her drink-muddled thoughts.

Emma’s behind her, pressing into her, and Regina’s backless dress is suddenly a blessing in disguise, because taut nipples are brushing at her shoulder blades, teasing and taunting her with the rhythm of the music, and Regina has to squeeze her thighs together against the torrent of images that send a flood of heat. The lights flicker and shudder with the beat, and Emma’s fingers trace her sides with intent, soft and full of meaning, and Regina faces Emma then, green eyes flashing brightly, the haze of alcohol doing nothing to dull the lust that Regina sees painted plainly on Emma’s face.

Regina takes a breath then, and later, she’ll say it was the alcohol, that it was nothing but the moment, but she knows now it’s none of that, that it’s simply green eyes and a seductive smile that beckons her. Emma tastes like lemon and bitters and her lips part against thin pink lips, and Emma is delicious, and this is too much, here, now. Regina can taste the tang of citrus on the blonde’s tongue, feel the music in her body, setting it alight, and the press of Emma’s palms against her bare arms, fingers strong and wanting— it’s all too _much_.

She’s drawing Emma closer, hands firm and needy, and she takes a breath as she takes Emma’s hand in her own, leading her away from prying eyes.

The bathroom door slams behind them, and a _snick_ tells Regina that it’s locked, and suddenly Emma’s in front of her, eyes green and bright and glazed over with need, and Regina tugs her close, leather creaking in the quiet, the distant hum of music barely breaking the quiet, and the small room is filled with a gasp as Emma’s tongue traces Regina’s neck. Strong hands hoist Regina’s hips up, pinning her to the wall, and Regina feels _dirty_ then because she doesn’t _do this_ , she doesn’t hook up in clubs with strangers, but then Emma looks up from beneath beautiful lashes, and suddenly, she doesn’t feel like such a stranger.

Need curls wantonly in her belly then, hot and sudden, and Regina tugs Emma’s lips to her own, teeth violent and clacking and uncomfortable, but Emma’s hands are warm on her ass, her body pressed into Regina’s and she can’t bring herself to care much. Emma tastes her then, and Regina whines into her mouth as Emma frees a palm to cup Regina’s breast through her sleek dress.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Regina,” Emma mutters, and Regina feels fingers pluck at her nipple through her dress, and Regina needs more, _more, more_ , and she tells Emma. Emma complies, then, and Regina chases thin lips as they pull away, but then, then Emma’s dropping to her knees then, hitching Regina’s leg up. Regina is distantly aware of her heel clattering to the ground, but then Emma’s lips are ghosting a path along Regina’s thighs, her thin fingers hitching up her dress, teasing at her garter, and Regina gasps at the way Emma’s tongue demands so much from her, the way her breath is warm at the inside of her thighs. Lips are hot and wanting on her own, and Emma kisses her deep, and Regina hums as Emma nudges her thong from her hot sex with narrow, skillful fingers. Regina’s resolve breaks then, because Emma is circling her clit with precise fingertips, and the blonde has yet to break the heated kiss that she’s demanding from Regina and Regina doesn’t quite mind because it’s taking all of her concentration to stay here in this moment, to keep steady. Trembling hands find Emma’s hair, long and beautiful and golden, _tug_ , and Regina needs some leverage, really, but Emma’s thumb is working at her clit and then _blessedly_ , two fingers are pumping in and out of Regina’s pussy, and Regina can’t do anything but kiss Emma hard.

Regina flies apart at the seams moments later, or maybe hours, she’s not quite sure, and it’s all she can do to keep from crying out, and Emma’s there swallowing her cries as she comes. Regina feels the way Emma draws her pleasure out, pumping again and again, her fingers working to give her every bit of pleasure she can. This is too close, too _much,_ and Regina doesn’t feel like _this_.

Regina drops back, slumping against the wall with a sated sigh, her knees wobbling and unsteady. Sweat beads beneath her hairline, and the sink runs.

Emma’s splashing her face with water.

Regina swallows, her throat clicking in the sudden quiet.

“Regina—Emma’s eyes are wide and green and beautiful and _fuck if they’re not full of hope, of_ something, and Regina drops her gaze, straightening her dress instead.

“I can’t— I’m sorry, Emma.” Regina stoops to replace her heel, and the silence between them creaks with the burden of whatever it is Regina doesn’t want to say.

“This was a mistake, Miss Swan,” she tries again, voice steely. It shouldn’t be so hard to say; after all, they’re strangers.

And then Regina is brushing past Emma, unlocking the door, and leaving the blonde behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all have enjoyed it. Please leave a review, and if you're interested in what happens next in our ladies' lives, please hit subscribe and read along as our dynamic duo tackle romance, Cora, and-- each other? maybe.


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